


We Don't Fall Far

by karuvapatta



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Canon, the regent is a warning unto himself, typical warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Laurent meets Nicaise for the first time.





	We Don't Fall Far

**Author's Note:**

> "And there was never an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it." --> inspired by this line from _Good Omens_.

The apple fell right before him and then rolled away over the fresh green grass. Raising his head, Laurent looked into his mother’s peaceful smile etched into marble, and then quickly dismissed her statue as the perpetrator.

So he looked up.

The apple tree had been here ever since Queen Hennike planted it shortly after her marriage. Now it stood guard over the monument, unassuming but infinitely more approachable then the one near her grave. Laurent had fond memories of that tree. And now, to his dismay, he noticed a figure hiding amongst its branches.

It was a boy. He had to be eleven or thereabouts, and wore rich clothes of a courtier. Although, surprisingly, not a single crest signifying which of Veretian noble families he came from.

“These are royal gardens,” Laurent said. “You can’t be here.”

The boy bit into an apple, legs dangling from above.

“Then come get me,” he said, mouth full of the fruit.

 Laurent raised his eyebrows at him. He was still the damned Crown Prince of Vere, and would not be caught climbing trees at nearly eighteen years of age.

He told the boy so, and was met with a dismissive shrug of shoulders.

“Your loss. These are great, here, try one—“ and the half-eaten apple was lobbed, with astonishing accuracy, right at Laurent’s head.

Shocked, Laurent forgot to move or react. It hit his head and bounced off, ending up on the grass: bright red and conspicuous against the green, with a clear imprint of the boy’s teeth.

Even worse, the boy was smirking, secure with his ample ammunition and the several feet of height advantage. It annoyed Laurent more than it should. Or perhaps his mood lately had been more confrontational that unusual.

He had climbed this tree more times than he cared to count, as did Auguste before him. He made quick work of it now, finding grip and footholds on the rough bark and pulling himself up by the strength of his arms alone. The extra weight he had put on during his adolescent years complicated matters, but was manageable through the hours of rigorous training.

The boy had edged away, wide blue eyes seeking an escape route. Uselessly, as they were too far above ground to jump; he’d need to pass Laurent to get down.

Around and above them, the branches were heavy with ripe fruit. Looking around, Laurent selected one with perfectly red skin and bit through it. The juice was sweet, with a hint of tartness that added to the flavour. He had almost forgotten what it was like to taste things. Most of the meals he had to endure in Uncle’s presence, which consistently ruined his appetite.

When he was done with the apple, he turned to the boy.

“Bet you can’t hit that fountain over there,” he said.

The boy scoffed.

He grabbed a small fruit, still unripe, and tossed it. It hit the pool of the fountain with a satisfying splash.

“Adequate,” Laurent said. Then he took a careful aim and threw – the apple core sore, up and up – and ended exactly where he meant it to: the topmost tier of the fountain, the smallest of them.

“That’s not all that impressive,” the boy said in a sullen voice. “You got lucky.”

“Nothing gets past you, doesn’t it?” Laurent nodded sagely. Then he threw another one, and it landed at the exact same place.

“Cheater!”

“How do you imagine that might work?”

“I don’t know. But you cheated.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Hey!”

Laurent startled. The boy did as well, swaying dangerously on the branch.

“Get down from there,” a cold voice said. “The Queen’s Orchard is no place for pets.”

He dared—the very implication filled Laurent with cold, bitter rage. He tried to master it, tried to push down the nauseous filling in his stomach, but his own body obeyed him no more that the Court of Vere.

But then: “I go where I please,” in the child’s haughty voice. “ _He_ said so.”

And it hit Laurent then, all the pieces falling into place. The image they formed was ugly, almost unbelievable in its audacity. Uncle wouldn’t—pets were public—this was a _child_ —not even the Court would stand for this—

He forced himself to think, calmly and without emotion: the Court had been prepared for this. Uncle paved the way by encouraging some of the more extreme acts, both in the performance ring and outside of it. The rumours tainting Auguste’s memory. This was planned, deliberate. As was everything the Regent did.

But he couldn’t think.

He climbed down, making way for the boy too. And he was so young – younger than Laurent had been. Barely coming up to Laurent’s chest, with his thin limbs and round face. Wide blue eyes that must have caught Uncle’s attention in the first place, and the pout on his lips.

“Come along, boy,” the guardsman said. Then, after a pause long enough to be insulting, he offered a bow to Laurent. “Your highness.”

“My name’s _Nicaise_ ,” the boy said angrily.

He was clever enough not to resist when the guard escorted him away, even if he had to take two or three steps to match the man’s long, careless stride.

Laurent watched them go and forced himself to breathe.


End file.
